


Scales of Fate

by you_guys_are_losers



Series: Spideychelle Week 2k19 [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fantasy AU, High Fantasy AU, Michelle Jones - Freeform, PeterMJ - Freeform, Spideychelle, fisherman AU, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 21:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19798252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_guys_are_losers/pseuds/you_guys_are_losers
Summary: Peter Parker is just trying to survive from one day to the next. He casts his net out every day, hoping to catch enough to both feed May and himself and make a bit extra, and then planning to come out and do the same thing the next day. This is how it has always been, and Peter assumes it is how it will be forever-- at least, until he makes a catch that he isn’t expecting, and she changes his plans forever with one flick of her tail.





	Scales of Fate

  * peter has always heard the call of the sea, the soft singing of the waves at night when he lays in bed. they whisper his name when he closes his eyes, guiding the current of his dreams as he sleeps and leaving a taste of salt on his lips when he wakes.
  * when he was younger and asked may why the ocean spoke to him, she would offer him a sad smile and tell him it had been the same for his father and his uncle ben before him. 
  * the parkers, she said, were more than just fishermen-- they were the property of the ocean, leased to the land for a time before it came back to claim them. 
  * and so, as peter grows, he grows with an anger towards the waters by which their tiny cottage is situated. it is a fire in his belly, a fury at the depth and darkness which took his parents in a storm when he was an infant and dragged his uncle’s boat down, down, down without even leaving a body to bury. 
  * but as the anger grows, a dread does, too, as inextricable from his fury as thorns from a rose. he is furious on behalf of his mother and father, ripped from him at a young age, and he is livid for his uncle, who had left may with no living relatives and an orphan to support. but the dread? 
  * the dread is not for anyone but himself. 
  * _because one day,_ the ocean whispers, _one day..._
  * _one day i will come for you, and you will be mine.  
_
  * despite his aversion to the sea, however, as peter grows into manhood he is forced to set his grudge aside, or at least work through it. 
  * may had worked in whatever jobs she could, following ben’s death, to support herself and peter. she and peter had shared the work of keeping house, but she had also received a pittance for working in the fields of a few nearby landowners, many of whom had taken advantage of her by denying may her full wage.
  * the labor was backbreaking, and though peter had done what he could from a young age to earn for them both, he had never been able to make quite enough to relieve her of the necessity. now, years later, her body is demanding dues for its labor. 
  * so, in order to provide for his ailing aunt, peter works harder than ever at taking up his deceased father and uncle’s trade as a fisherman. 
  * the ocean, as peter becomes a man, is the first thing peter sees in the morning as the sun rises on his little boat, and it is the last thing he sees out his window every night. he spends hour after hour riding the waves in his jetty, hauling net after net of fish into the vessel. 
  * the ocean repays his care: every time he casts the net into the water he seems to find more of the scaled creatures within. and still, for all the abundance the waters provide him, peter only feels more disgust towards them and towards the creatures they offer him as a gift. 
  * because, no matter how they keep a roof over his and may’s head and allow peter to soothe her pain, he will never be able to feel like they are anything other than blood money, repayment for the lives of his father, his mother, and his uncle. 
  * still, every morning, peter surrenders himself anew to the currents. he does it for may and may alone, and it is for her he spends his hours atop the waves with the sun beating down in his back, blazing like the fire in his heart and reminding him of the reason he fights. 
  * as the summer sun rises on peter’s twentieth year, peter returns to the depths, giving himself over to them again the way he does every new fishing season. 
  * as he prepares his humble boat for the first time, the waters bear witness to the young man they have molded in their image. 
  * peter’s skin is kissed by the sun from hours bared to the elements, casting a glow across his body that comes from within. his form is strong, and even though peter is wearing a thin shirt as he works to free the boat from the dock, the waters can recognize their own movements in the rippling of the muscles across his back, arms, and chest. the wind, which tastes of salt waters, runs its fingers possessively through his chocolate curls, and the million tiny freckles across his face and nose are little marks that tag peter as belonging to the sun, the wind, and the waves. 
  * but the ocean’s greatest hold on him can be seen in his eyes, so brown they are almost black as a stormy sea, and deep enough one might drown in them if they look too long. 
  * something in the wind changes as peter finally frees his vessel and mounts the crests and peaks of the waves. though peter is skilled as a sailor already, today, in particular, his prow seems to slice through the waves with ease, the ocean cleaving to his will without a second thought. 
  * peter allows the currents to carry him to a small cove, one of his favorite spots for fishing. it is more sheltered than the open ocean, so there is plenty to catch, but it is more than that. due to the rocky outcroppings nearby, not only does peter not have to worry about competition from other boats, but he also knows exactly where to sit so that by the time the fish realize they are swimming into his net, the current drives them straight to him.
  * the water is deep, shining with alluring darkness below his boat. peter does not allow himself to focus on the gleaming crowns of the waves below him, choosing instead to stare in the direction of the bluffs and cliffs of the land that stare back at him, faces blank and pointed. they are solid and sturdy, not shifting and mischievous like the ocean. they are where he will choose to make his home. 
  * the cliffs and the land are his only loyalty, he reminds himself, and they are who he will pledge his life to until the day the waves grow tired of having him for a plaything and drag him down where the sun will not kiss his skin again. 
  * peter’s fixation on the cliffs, however, causes him to note a sudden movement in the rocks at their base. at first, he believes he must be wrong, or perhaps it was just a wave slapping up against the cliffs. however, none of the waves crashing appear to be big enough to have drawn his attention. 
  * peter’s eyes linger on the cliffs for a moment, but before he can spend too long questioning it he tears his eyes away and turns back to his nets. it will do him no good to focus on anything but working while he is out there; the ocean, he fears, will do anything it can to keep him here. 
  * for a little while, peter succeeds in his efforts to focus exclusively on bringing home a good catch. his net begins to be weighted down with fish, and peter is about ready to try hauling it up when, suddenly, his boat rocks violently to one side, weighted down by something in his net.
  * peter’s heart races as his body stiffens. for a moment he grips the side of his boat, fully expecting to go down, down, down into the ice cold water and find a watery grave awaiting him in the black. 
  * no. the voice in his head is insistent, determined, and it is then peter realizes he is not going to go down without a fight. 
  * he leans forward as the boat pitches, his hands finding the net and wrapping themselves around the knots. once he is certain his grip will not be loosened by the yanking of the net, peter takes a breath and begins to haul it up with all of his might, up and out of the watery grasp of the ocean. 
  * at first, the net doesn’t budge.
  * peter strains and pulls, and yet all of his fisherman’s strength won’t help him against the iron fist of the waters below. still, peter holds on, straining and pulling. if he can’t pull it up, then at the very least he won’t let it be pulled down. 
  * peter’s muscles strain against the pull of the net, and though he does not manage to haul it up, it does manage to quell some of the boat’s bucking and heaving. just when peter has gathered the strength to attempt to pull again, the weight of the net lessens suddenly. there is the sensation of a snagging deep, down in the net, and then peter begins to drag the net, heaving it up into the air. 
  * the sight awaiting peter when his net has been pulled free of the water is so shocking, it nearly causes him to drop the net again. 
  * because, tangled in the net like a fly in the web of a spider, is a woman. 
  * peter’s brown eyes find another pair of irises, but these are impossibly dark, and more than that, they’re _wild_. 
  * the eyes staring back at him are lined with thick, dark lashes weighed down by water droplets. the woman blinks several times to get the water away, and peter watches as her breath begins to come in ragged spurts, sounding harsh and grating against her throat. her hair is impossibly long and thick as she shoves it out of her face, and the curls are weighted down by water as she shoves them so they are over her shoulders, falling nearly to her waist.
  * peter’s eyes widen as he realizes she is not wearing any clothing over those shoulders, and so he quickly drags his gaze back up to her face. it is the most beautiful face he has ever seen-- full lips, high cheekbones, skin glistening with water, and eyes smoldering with the same rage that burns in his stomach. 
  * however, it is only when peter realizes she’s still partially submerged and lifts the net further that he realizes what she really is. 
  * because, in place of where her legs should be, there is a tail glistening the same bronze as her skin, but it is covered in shining, metallic scales. 
  * peter nearly drops the net, and as soon as his grip loosens, the woman begins to violently thrash against the net, trying to free herself. rather than allowing himself to be dragged down with her, though, peter regains his footing and drags the net onto the ship, where she cannot capsize his boat. 
  * the woman falls to the bottom of the boat with a painful-sounding thud and a squelch, the sound of her weight being thrust onto the rest of the fish in the net. the smell of the animals and their insides permeates the boat, but peter has grown immune to it by now. her, on the other hand? she is something new, something else entirely, and so peter goes scrambling to the other side of the boat. 
  * fish spill out of the net and onto the bottom of the vessel as the woman immediately starts writhing in the net again. peter can hear her sharp, painful breaths, the sound of them coming in panicked, wild spurts. 
  * her arms try to shove the heavy net off of her, but the movements are all wrong. she is moving for the water, expecting the net to drift away. on land, though, the ropes are heavy and weighed down by water, and she is also wrestling against the flapping bodies of her scaly kin as she tries to free herself. 
  * peter does not know what to do as he shrinks back, pressing against the far end of the boat. _she is no woman,_ peter reminds himself. _she is something else entirely, something of the ocean, and maybe she has come for me._
  * but, as peter watches her wrestle his net, he does not feel any of the aversion he knows he should. instead, as her breathing grows more and more rapid and ragged and he hears pained sounds leave her lips, he feels pity.
  * she is tangled in his net, one strategically positioned to intercept any creature swimming in the currents. he dragged her from the environment she was meant for, tossed her in his boat like another fish, and left her to struggle… and now, as he watches, he is not helping her. 
  * before he can tell himself why this is a terrible idea, peter slowly makes his way to the net, crossing the small boat. 
  * “shh, shh,” he says quickly, his voice breathless from hauling her out of the water as he approaches. “you’re alright, i promise.” 
  * his words cause her movements to stop so suddenly that peter freezes, startled. from under the net, peter can see her body stiffen. he locates her head, where the net is pressed against her cheek, and peter can see her eyes, wide and terrified, as her chest heaves with labored breathing. when her eyes find him, however, they narrow immediately, and she glares at him with a ferocity which peter thinks might be lethal in and of itself. 
  * peter grips one edge of the waterlogged net and begins to lift it, hauling it off of her. as soon as he begins, however, her whole body convulses. 
  * a strangled cry of pain leaves the creature, and peter immediately stops. the noise sounds like it is grating her throat to a pulp, reminding peter of the sensation one might feel when dragging a hand across glass shards. peter sets down the net, then, looking at her face anxiously. 
  * the creature’s eyes are pressed shut, her brow puckered as her face twists into an expression of pained agony. for the first time, peter examines her tail, and it is then that he sees it.
  * one of the fins on the end of her tail is caught in the tight knots, wrenched and mangled among the ropes in a way that has caused some bleeding, the removal of several scales, and must be in agony with every movement. 
  * “oh,” peter breathes, his eyes traveling from her face, to her tail, to her face again. “ _oh_.” 
  * guilt, intense and painful, writhes in his stomach now. he has caused this, and it is his fault… and to even think that he had considered trying to hate her when he was fully responsible for her presence. of course she struggled, and of course she is terrified… she probably thinks he is going to hurt her. 
  * as his thoughts wander, peter does not realize that the creature’s eyes are open now. they study him without reservations as he mulls over what to do, and it is only once he has come back to it that he realizes she is staring. for a moment, that is all they do: look into one another’s eyes, searching the depths they find looking back at them. 
  * and then, after a moment, peter murmurs, “i’m getting you out of here.” 
  * peter removes a short knife from his belt, one he uses whenever he needs to cut a rope for some new net out on the boat. as soon as she sees the net, the creature-- no, the mermaid-- stiffens, her eyes widening.
  * then, however, peter returns to her side, kneeling by her tail. she lurches forward to see what he is doing and to possibly intercept it, but she finds him sawing at the net rather than carving at her own flesh. 
  * peter cuts away the rope from around her fin, careful not to slice the iridescent bronze that is so mangled by the net. he winces when he sees the damage it has done. blood wells up where it was trapping the fin, and scales shining like copper and gold fall to the bottom of the boat once there is nothing to trap them against her tail. 
  * the mermaid draws in a sharp breath with the first stroke of the blade, but then she slowly begins to relax, realizing he means her no harm. she examines the damage to her tail with a calculated eye. still, an ache grows in her eyes with each new injury revealed, and it appears to peter as he removes the rest of the net from over her body that they have both reached the same conclusion. 
  * though she is free, her tail will not allow her to swim in this state. 
  * peter’s eyes find her own, then, mournful as they search her irises. though she is attempting to keep the emotion from her face, peter can see the pain and frustration glistening there. it is then peter makes the decision, rash as it may be. 
  * “don’t worry,” he breathes. “i am going to help you fix it.” 
  * the mermaid stares back at him. she does not seem to understand his words, but the tone of them causes her stare to harden slightly. she is attempting to conceal her thoughts from him, he can tell, but there is still uncertainty and wariness in her eyes as she looks at him. 
  * slowly, carefully, peter stretches a hand out to touch the scales around the wound. her whole body stiffens, and the creature pulls herself away from him with one massive, dragging motion. the boat begins to pitch again with the shifting of her weight, and there is more squelching of fish around and beneath her that causes peter to wince. 
  * “alright,” he concedes quickly. “alright.” 
  * peter carefully rises to his feet, watching her and making sure she can see his hands are raised. after a moment of studying him, she begins to sit up. her eyes never leave him.
  * peter’s gaze falls to her bare collarbone for a moment, and he clears his throat, suddenly flustered. “you, uh…” he stammers. it is only then he remembers that she does not seem to understand him, and he winces, uncomfortable. 
  * “your…” peter looks pointedly away, gesturing to his chest area. the creature looks down, then up at him, and when peter glances in her direction again he sees a mix of exasperation and a dry sort of amusement in her expression. her eyes gleam as she looks at him, raising an eyebrow. 
  * peter’s cheeks flush, then. he swallows as he considers what he can do. after a moment, he grabs the back of his threadbare shirt, lifting it over his head in one fluid motion. the wind raises goosebumps on his bare chest as he extends the thin fabric to her. 
  * the mermaid looks thoroughly unimpressed as she beholds the shirt, then him. after a moment, she takes it with fumbling fingers and attempts to lift it over her head. she struggles, however, with how to get it on, so peter quickly hides a small smile and carefully steps around her, careful to avoid stepping on her tail or any of his catch. When he comes up behind her, she goes rigid, but then peter helps guide the fabric over her shoulders. 
  * the mermaid’s upper body is completely motionless as he does this, then carefully reaches to lift her wet curls from under the collar. she lets out a shaky breath as he does this, and peter’s own cheeks heat up as he stumbles around her to approach the front of his boat again. 
  * “i, uh…” peter’s eyes find her own, and she appears just as uncertain as him. he knows she can’t understand him, but he decides to at least give her the opportunity to understand his tone. 
  * peter points to himself, sure to enunciate. “my name is peter.” he jabs his finger in his direction, repeating, “peter.” 
  * her eyes still hold wariness, but after a moment, she nods slowly. peter offers a small smile to her, and though her eyes soften, she does not return it. 
  * “i am going to make sure you are alright.” his voice is soft as down as he promises this to her, and the storm in the depths of her irises seems to intensify as she stares back at him. for a moment, peter rethinks every thought he’s ever had about hurricanes, every fear of gales and squalls while out on the water. 
  * because, as dangerous as these things are, all peter can see as he looks into the storm in her eyes is beauty. 
  * when he finally looks away, peter begins to move, adjusting his sail and beginning to prepare to sail the boat. as they begin moving, the mermaid at first freezes with the lurch of the boat, then relaxes as they cut through the waves. she stares out at the waves and their white caps, and then looks back to him. 
  * for a moment, fixed by a judgemental stare, peter could swear he knows what she’s thinking: the mermaid understands this is his alternative to swimming, and she is not impressed by what his boat can do in comparison to her tail. 
  * peter can’t help it-- a laugh bubbles from his lips, short and soft. at first, she does not appear to know what to do, but then her eyes seem to hold a spark of amusement as a little smirk dances over her lips. 
  * it is then that she opens her mouth, and, for the first time, she attempts to speak to him. 
  * the sounds that follow are high and screeching, grating against her throat and sounding to peter’s ears like the screaming of metal and the crashing of glass. the mermaid, too, winces in response to the words, squeezing her eyes shut. after a moment, peter glances at her warily, and her eyes drift open. 
  * she returns his glance with a piercing look. the creature seems thoroughly vexed and not much in the mood to interact, and so peter returns to sailing. 
  * after a while adrift on the waves, a cliff face with a gaping hole comes into view. as they sail closer, it is revealed to be a cave, and peter allows the boat to slow as they approach it. from her position in the back, the mermaid watches him as he ties and unties knots, adjusting the sail on his boat so they have slowed their course by the time the prow bumps against the rock. 
  * peter steps out of the boat, then, taking one of the lead ropes and tying it securely around a jagged stone. he reaches for the second rope, tying the boat so the side is parallel to the beginning of the stone ground. it is then that peter turns back to the boat, taking a deep breath as he climbs in.
  * “you aren’t going to like this,” he warns her, and she blinks up at him with narrowed eyes for a moment before he leans down and, without hesitating, scoops her into his arms in a fluid motion. 
  * Immediately, she begins to struggle against his chest. her tail flaps, causing peter to fight for his balance in the rocking boat, and her arms shove against his chest, attempting to get him to set her down. though he has to fight to keep her in his arms peter does manage to step out of the boat and onto solid ground. 
  * “hey, hey,” he breathes in a soothing voice. “hey.” as they walk into the darkness of the cave, peter has to stoop slightly to avoid knocking his head. she continues to fight him, and for some reason peter finds himself humming the lullabye may used to sing him as a child. 
  * his voice is not particularly sweet, but at least the melody itself is pleasant. as soon as he starts the humming, she freezes, no longer struggling. he holds her securely against his chest as they continue into the darkness until a dim light seems to come from ahead of them.
  * after a while of humming and walking, the pair step into the final cavern of the cave. quarters are still close, but at least there is a shaft in the top which lets in some natural light. the floor has been made smooth by rainwater, and there is a shallow indentation where a little pool, a few inches deep, has gathered. it is here peter brings her, and in this water he sets her down. 
  * immediately, the mermaid scrambles away from him, whirling about to look at him with wide, accusing eyes. she draws in a shaky breath, looking down at the water around her, then glancing back up at him. it has already begun to seep into the shirt, and so she offers him a slightly sheepish glance before turning to examine the rest of the cavern. 
  * “it’s alright,” peter replies, leaning against the wall opposite her. the cold stone bites into his skin, but he doesn’t mind it much. “i have another one.” he hesitates, watching her as she becomes more acquainted with her surroundings. his eyes, however, are on her tail. 
  * “i’m going to go home,” he informs her, causing her to turn to him, observing with sharp eyes. “i’ll bring back what i can to help that tail, and maybe some food. and then…” his voice trails off, and she watches him expectantly, waiting for more words. 
  * “well, we’ll do whatever we have to to fix it.” 
  * she fixes him with a determined stare, and slowly she nods. her eyes travel him for the first time, from head to toe, and then she turns away from him. once her back is to him, she begins to slowly rotate her tail, allowing the little bit of water to saturate it. peter makes a mental note to bring more water. and then, with that, he is gone. 
  * night finds peter sneaking out to the boat, a pail of water in each hand and a bundle tucked under his arm. he loads the vessel, which he has since emptied except for a pile of nets in the front, and then he is on his way to the spot where he left her, the spot where his uncle ben used to bring him when peter was first learning to sail. 
  * peter is half-expecting the mermaid to be gone when he enters the cavern, which is lit by nothing other than the full moon. he finds her, however, lying on her side in the water with her back to him, her body inhaling and exhaling as she rests.
  * peter can’t help but feel guilty as he looks at her, lying so at peace. but he knows he has to wake her, so he murmurs, “hello?” 
  * peter can hear her sharp intake of breath, and in one fluid motion she has turned to face him. her eyes, at first, hold more panic, but when she sees it is him the fear subsides somewhat. for a moment, the only sound is the dripping of her hair, and peter remains still so she can take in the sight of the water and the bundle in his hands. 
  * after a moment, she offers him a stiff nod, and peter sets down the pails and the bundle. peter seats himself directly next to the pool of water, close enough that if she wanted to, she could reach out and touch him. it is then he loosens the sack of cloth and begins to remove various items, all of which she studies. he makes sure to set them close enough so she can pick them up to examine if she wishes. 
  * a comb is first, the teeth of which seem to interest the mermaid as she runs a long, slender finger down the ridges. a half-used bar of soap soon follows, and then peter moves on to the medical supplies. he produces several clean strips of cloth which he plans to use as bandaging, as well as a healing salve he purchased in town with the little bit of his wage he has been saving up. he also removes a bottle of alcohol and a cleaning rag, which he suspects are not going to go over well. 
  * peter decides to start with the soap and the comb. he takes a deep breath and lifts one of the pails, moving closer and holding it over her head. he offers her a careful glance, making sure she is able to see all of his movements. she studies his every action intently, and when he tips the pail so about half of the water pours over her head, she tips her head back, relishing the feeling. 
  * peter can’t keep back a small smile as he moves the pail, allowing the water to soak into her tail. once most of the pail is empty, he sets it back down and picks up the soap, dipping it into the water. making sure she is watching, he dips the soap in the water and holds it to his skin, where he demonstrates how to scrub in the suds. once he is sure she has seen how, he holds it out to her, holding his breath. 
  * the mermaid lifts it from his hand, but she almost immediately drops the slippery substance. he can’t quite manage to stifle a soft laugh, and she shoots him a glare in response. peter raises his hands apologetically, though his eyes still dance with amusement. she seems to contemplate how to respond, finally letting out a soft sigh and shaking her head. still, there is something good-natured in her response as she begins to scrub at her skin, checking every so often to make sure she is doing it correctly. 
  * peter offers her an affirmative nod in response, and so she brings the soap up and down her skin, focusing on the areas peter knows were forced against the fish in his net. he can’t imagine the experience was a pleasant one, and he winces out of guilt at the thought. when he looks up, he finds her watching with interest, and he quickly straightens up. 
  * now, peter hands her the comb, but only after he has mimed what she should do with it. the girl experiments with it, finally using it to pick at a few tough knots in her hair, but mostly to move it so her hair is streaming down her back rather than getting in her way. 
  * once she has done these things, she turns to peter expectantly. he takes a deep breath and picks up the alcohol and rag, gesturing gingerly to her tail. for a moment, she appears wary of peter, looking him up and down. she does not, however, pull away. instead, she offers him a grim nod. 
  * peter soaks the cloth with alcohol. after it is sufficiently soaked through, he lowers the cloth to the wounded area of her tail and presses down.
  * Immediately, a strangled groan leaves the mermaid as her whole body becomes rigid. she does not, however, pull away or fight. instead, she squeezes her eyes shut and clenches her jaw until he has finished dabbing at the wound. 
  * once he is finished, her eyes finally flutter open, and she avoids looking at him. he pauses, waiting, but she waves a hand in a way that tells him to keep going. 
  * once he is finished sterilizing the wound, peter reaches for the poultice. this he smears on his fingers, and then he moves to rest a few fingers in warning on the side of her tail, letting them brush the iridescent scales with a feather-light touch. her eyes snap in his direction, but she does not lurch away from him the way she did before. still, peter thinks he might hear her catch her breath.
  * carefully, peter moves his fingers down to the wound, smearing the poultice onto the wounded area with a gentle touch. she watches his progress with a sharp eye, but she does not try to stop him. every so often, the mermaid even adjusts her tail slightly to make it easier. 
  * peter cannot help but admire the scales that adorn her tail as he carefully tends to the wound. they glimmer and shine, bronze and iridescent even in the moonlight. once peter has finished tending to the places her tail has been injured, he finds himself caressing a single scale with a finger. he does not realize what he is doing until it is too late, and by then he feels her stiffen beneath his touch. 
  * peter’s eyes snap to her face, but he does not find the anger or fear or accusation he is expecting to. 
  * instead, her gaze blazes as he stares into the depths of her eyes, and there is a challenge in them so brazen it causes him to catch his breath. 
  * his heart skips, breaking the spell and causing him to reach for the bandages as something, anything. when he looks back at her, the mermaid’s eyes are fixed religiously on the supplies, waiting to see what he will do. peter exhales shakily and slowly unwinds the cloth, carefully wrapping it around her tail and tying it into sailor’s knots once it is fixed where he wants it. 
  * when the last bandage is where it needs to be, peter reaches into the bag for one last thing. from within he produces half of a loaf of bread, the portion he was supposed to take that evening at dinner. this he extends to her carefully, determined not to look at it and to ignore the aching in his stomach. 
  * the woman stares at it contemplatively for a moment, then back at him. peter feels as though her eyes see straight through him, and then she is reaching for the food. he releases it willingly. 
  * once it is in her hands, however, peter watches as she breaks the bread into two. she holds one piece close with slender fingers and then releases the other piece, handing it back in his direction. peter is about to refuse to take it, but the commanding look in her eyes prompts him to accept. 
  * with that unspoken agreement, the two of them share the food, and thus begins a tradition that continues on over the next few weeks, transforming the way peter takes his meals and spends his nights. 
  * peter visits her at least once a day, though as the days stretch on the meetings become more frequent. there is always one in the morning, to check on the state of her tail. this is the most predictable, and when peter arrives in the morning he often finds her already awake, waiting. 
  * the first few mornings he checks the wound, peter is discouraged. he finds injuries that look the same as they did the morning she received them, and some days, they even appear worse. the mermaid seems to pick up on his frustration, and he observes her face fall several times in response to his reaction when she thinks he cannot see it. 
  * as the mornings go on, however, they find the wounds improving, slowly but surely. there are some mornings every so often where the wounds appear more painful, but such experiences become fewer and farther in between. 
  * some mornings, she even allows him to lightly prod the muscles surrounding in order to figure out how they are healing, since they both know muscular injuries are the problem that will really make a difference when it comes to swimming. some mornings, she is far too sore to even allow him to try. 
  * other mornings, though, she begs him to take her out to the water. the first time, she does this by reaching for him with open arms and a commanding gleam in her eyes, one peter can hardly ignore. he carries her out of the cavern and down to the water, where his boat is tied, and she gestures towards the ground. 
  * peter sets her down, then, and she moves so she is sitting on the edge of the dropoff. peter understands what she is doing as she lowers her tail into the saltwater, sighing audibly. peter has to hide a small, awed smile as he watches her close her eyes, tipping her head back and drinking in the sun as the water laps over the injury. 
  * he lingers as long as he can there, watching her tentatively test the fins. she is able to move them just slightly, but if she uses too much force peter can tell it hurts her. he has grown skilled, in the past few weeks, at reading the emotions and reactions of the mermaid, and the shadow that crosses her face leaves him without any doubt she is in pain. 
  * still, he does not want to bring her away from the water. as peter watches her lower as much of her tail as she can into the waves, he can’t help but find a bittersweet sort of amusement in it. she craves with her whole heart the very thing he has spent his whole life running from, and something about it feels like coming full circle. 
  * the mermaid interrupts his thoughts, turning to look his way with a playful gleam in her eyes. she gestures to him, then to the water, and when she raises an eyebrow peter could swear she is challenging him. 
  * for a moment, peter considers it almost as a reflex. when he realizes what he’s done, a chill creeps over him in a cold sweat. 
  * because, just for a moment, he forgot she is waist-deep in the very thing that is determined to consume him. 
  * and peter knows it has everything to do with those wild curls, the intelligent interactions they’ve been sharing, and the danger dancing in her deep, dark eyes. 
  * stiffly, peter shakes his head, and at first the mermaid looks as though she might tease him. however, as peter begins to avoid her gaze and retreats into himself, he can feel the mood freeze over. after a few freezing moments he finally hears the sloshing that is the mermaid pulling herself out of the water, and he silently moves to scoop her up and bring her away with him, back to the cave.
  * for a while after this, she does not make the request to go back to the water. a few days later, though, peter brings her without her asking, since her tail has seemed better in the time since her visit. though she does not ask him to join her, peter watches the mermaid out of the corner of his eye, and despite the fact he knows he shouldn’t, he finds it becoming the best part of his day. 
  * the wound on her tail seems to get better almost overnight now, and he knows it must have something to do with the water. maybe, he reasons, the salt is driving away infection. 
  * something in his chest, however, tells peter it runs deeper; the very thing that has always promised him death is giving her life. 
  * her tail is healing quickly now, enough so that she can even go on short swims. what peter doesn’t tell her, though, is that as she heals, there is another who is declining. 
  * peter’s entire wage, as well as most of the money they have for food, has been redirected in an attempt to purchase better medical care for may. though peter is careful not to let the mermaid know, his aunt has fallen ill, and something tells peter that no amount of salt water swimming will make it better. it began with a cough after a heavy storm, but now it has spread to her lungs, and peter cannot make it stop, no matter who he consults. 
  * the mermaid does not prompt him, but as peter continues with his visits, he catches her watching him more and more often. her dark eyes are penetrating as they examine him, and whenever he catches her, they burn their image into his mind even as she looks away. 
  * he is fully aware that his exhaustion is beginning to show-- there are dark rings under his eyes he cannot erase, and he has been prone to falling asleep while she swims. in addition, there is a new greyness to his skin that clings to him even in the day, and his hair is much lanker than it ever has been. 
  * peter cannot stop; he will not. but something in his chest tells him that there will be a day that he cannot keep going, and that day comes a few weeks later as he sits on the rock shelf, watching the mermaid swim.
  * he has just stopped himself from dozing off again, and this time when he opens his eyes, he finds her staring at him unabashedly. she does not avert those dark eyes this time, and peter finds himself grateful she does not. there is something lurking in those depths, some dark intensity and determination that sets his heart racing. 
  * the creature has been swimming more and more lately, and peter knows that she is on the verge of being able to leave. something in him dreads it… after she is gone, all he has is the harsh reality of his home, where every day by may’s sickbed leaves him heavier and more assured that she will leave him alone soon. she will go, and then all that will be left is the ocean, breathing down peter’s neck and whispering insanity into his ears. 
  * maybe it is this dread, biting at his heels, that causes a change in peter. it rises up in his chest, mixing with his anger to create a bitterness that bites through him. he is completely, utterly done: he’s spent, exhausted.
  * and so, when she fixes him with a stare as wild as the sea and extends a hand to him from the water, peter has no energy to spend on resistance. 
  * for a moment, peter just stares at her, and he watches her steel herself for rejection. 
  * and then, before he can stop himself, peter is standing, tugging his only other shirt over his head in one fluid motion. her eyes widen as he walks to the edge of the cliff, and before he can stop himself, peter has stepped off, closing his eyes as he prepares to be dragged down into the waters below. 
  * immediately, the dark water closes over his skin. the icy temperature hits peter as if he has slammed into a wall, sending his skin crawling. peter feels like he could jump out of his skin, but his body is determined to keep moving. _swim, swim..._ it tells him. _stop moving, even for a moment, and you will never feel the sun again._
  * peter begins to kick, and his body writhes as he forces his way to the surface. his head pierces through the black waters, and when his mouth opens, he drinks in the warm air with unrivalled greed. it warms his lungs, a sharp contrast to the freezing water that is trying to sap the life from him entirely. 
  * his eyes are the last to open, but when they do, he nearly freezes up entirely. the brown irises that meet his own are deeper than they ever have been before, and their warmth is more obvious than ever in contrast to the icy grey waters that surround them. 
  * the mermaid does not look away. her gaze is fiery, locking peter in place as she swims a few inches closer. before peter realizes what she is doing, her hands have found his, holding him up so that he does not need to continue swimming with his arms. her fingers lace with his, and peter feels as if he will never breathe again as she comes closer, closer... 
  * and then, when he is close enough to let his wet form melt into her own, she brings him down. 
  * peter barely has a moment to think before she has pulled him beneath the surface again. there is a sonic boom in his ears as he submerges, and a million tiny bubbles brush his cheeks, nose, and eyelashes in their struggle to return to the surface. 
  * peter’s heart does not race or leap as she pulls him down-- in fact, there is a strange calm. if she is going to bring him down, then he will never have to take another breath. if she drowns him the way he once expected her to, he will never have to go to the land, the place where his every step is heavier than the last and his shoulders are ready to give way to the burden resting on them. 
  * but then, she stops pulling him down. a pair of soft, slender fingers find peter’s cheeks, brushing his skin so gently that peter feels as though he might leap out of his body. 
  * the touch runs along his cheekbone, lingering insistently on the corner of his eye. after a moment, peter finds himself opening his eyes under the water, allowing the salt water to rush in, stinging. for a moment, he can see nothing but the darkness around them. 
  * and then, as his eyes travel under the water, they find her face. 
  * if peter thought that she was a beauty above the waves, nothing could prepare him for this. peter’s ragged shirts drifts around her body in the water, somehow appearing ethereal as it billows out around her. no gown could suit her better. the thick, dark curls he has so admired frame her face like a halo, catching the sun from above as they dart and weave in the current. thick lashes, full lips... somehow, everything is only magnified by the water that crashes in on every side. the copper scales seem to send flecks of light dancing around them beneath the waves, as if he needed anything else to make the sight more magical. 
  * but the eyes? 
  * her eyes are the same: wild, untameable, furious, a summer storm that peter is now perfectly willing to let consume him. 
  * her lips part, and peter is hooked on them. the sound that leaves her throat beneath the water, though, is enough to cause him to close his eyes. 
  * now he understands: the sounds that were shrill and piercing above the water were meant to be magnified by the roaring currents. above, they are repulsive, but here? 
  * to peter’s ears, they sound like music. her voice is lilting, set to notes and a melody that he cannot understand but is perfectly willing to appreciate. first, he recognizes the sound that drops from her lips. “ _peter_.” 
  * his eyes snap open then, finding hers and filling with disbelief. her own irises hold a wicked gleam, one that is viciously pleased with his understanding. she repeats it, the fingers on his cheekbone stroking his skin carefully. “ _peter.”_
  * peter lets out a soft hum, letting the melody wash over him. then, however, she removes her hand, and this time she sets it over her heart. watching him carefully to make sure he is paying attention, she says another word, one he has never heard before. 
  * “ _ehm-shay,”_ she breathes, gesturing to herself again. she watches, making sure he understands, before repeating it. peter is so stunned he nearly forgets to respond, but then he realizes that this is her name. instinctively, he opens his mouth in an attempt to respond, but the garbled syllables that leave his lips are clumsily uttered next to hers.
  * her eyes fill with the amused sort of exasperation he is so used to, and peter offers her a tired, sheepish smile. for a moment, everything is familiar... but then, a new, swirling current fills her eyes. 
  * her hand returns to his face, this time bringing him insistently closer. she tugs him to her, so close that they are nearly chest to chest. for a moment, her eyes explore his face, searching. 
  * peter surrenders himself, closing his eyes. she can have what she wishes, he decides... he is done. done fighting, done resisting, done trying to float when maybe he was born to sink. 
  * what he is not expecting her to take, however, is the space between them in order to fix her lips on his. 
  * for a moment, peter stiffens. he forgets to swim, his legs hooking around her swishing tail loosely in order to support himself. after a moment, he melts, allowing their two currents to swirl together into one as he wraps his arms around her neck and tangles his fingers in her curls. 
  * her arms come to rest around him, one hand tugging his cheek closer while the other wraps around his waist. her lips brush insistently against his, _finally_ speaking a language they both understand. 
  * she tastes like saltwater, like sun kisses, like all that is deep and dark and dangerous as she tugs him closer, closer. peter is helpless to resist as he opens himself to her with reckless abandon. 
  * he is not sure how long her soft lips move against his beneath the water. the only thing that indicates the passage of time is the increasing tightness of his lungs, begging for air. finally, when he can stand it no longer, peter removes his legs from around her to begin in his kicking towards the surface. 
  * when his head breaks through the freezing waves, peter gasps for air so harshly that it scrapes his throat. next to him, he hears the soft rustling of the waves that tells him she has surfaced as well.
  * after a moment spent just breathing, peter feels her skin brush his as she moves closer. beneath the water, her hand comes to rest on his bicep, holding him so that he does not need to focus so much on swimming. when his eyes finally open, peter finds her close, peering at him through thick, watery lashes. 
  * for a moment, they are silent, and then she begins to tug him away from the rocky ledge where his boat is tied. there is insistence in her gaze, and for a moment, peter does not remember to resist. but then, a sharp image of may’s sickbed flashes in his mind, and peter freezes, stiffening. 
  * her eyes find him immediately, calm and collected. there is expectation in them, and peter knows in that moment that she is waiting for a reason he cannot come with her. peter shakes his head, and the word that leaves his lips is husky from lack of oxygen and something more. 
  * “may,” he breathes, the word grating on his lips. she studies him, and peter gestures towards the cliffs, his heart sinking. “may. my aunt... she’s sick. i can’t leave her.” 
  * for a minute, there is silence, and her eyes seem to sink into him, blurring every line. then, before he can stop her, she is pressing against him again. her lips come to brush his brow, and one of her hands finds his, pressing something rounded and smooth into it. peter closes his eyes as her soft lips linger there. he would live in this moment if he could... 
  * and then, all too suddenly, it is over. 
  * she pulls away, and the eyes that find his own are solemn. they are saying goodbye, peter knows, and she drinks him in for one more moment before the mermaid turns around. her head sinks beneath the surface with barely a movement of the water, and peter knows she is not going to resurface. 
  * he waits there that evening until his body is screaming from the cold, watching the waves for a flash of copper he knows he will never see. after what could be a moment or hours, peter finally turns to the ledge and pulls himself back out, up onto the ledge where the wind that was once warm suddenly raises goosebumps on his skin.
  * it is only then that he looks in his hand, finding a glistening scale of bronze in his grasp that shines like a little sliver of harvest moon. 
  * such a moon comes and goes. peter’s waking hours become less and less concerned with his occupation, and they have more and more to do with watching may’s bedside. it is a small mercy that she is too delirious to notice the lack of food on the table or the constant stream of creditors circling their door like vultures. peter manages to keep them at bay, at least for another week, another day, another hour. 
  * if only the same could be said for the sickness crawling from may’s lungs.
  * the full moon finds peter, countless nights of anguish later, for the first reunion in months. the shore is unchanged at night; despite the rise and the fall of the tide, it still appears just the same as it did from his window when peter was a boy. 
  * he is not sure how long he walks in he moonlight, no destination in mind, beofre he hears it. 
  * there is a soft rustling of the waves, and then the sound of shifting sand behind him. for a moment, peter stands still, staring out over the waters that are whispering just the way they always have. 
  * “you came back.” 
  * his voice is a whisper, deathly low and careful. he does not need to be loud; she will understand, no matter what he says. she does not need his words. 
  * the water rustles again, and when peter turns, his eyes find the face that has been haunting his waking dreams for an eternity. he has changed; his face holds the weariness of one who has not slept in many a night, and his hair has grown out. there has not been time to cut the curls, and so they hang lower than they ever have, silver in the moonlight. his clothing is more worn, his stature a little wearier. 
  * she is the same. 
  * her curls are plastered to her back, her lips parted slightly. she still wears the shirt he left with her, peter realizes; something about the sight of her in his clothing causes something to stir in his chest. 
  * and the eyes? 
  * as sharp, dangerous, and untamed as ever. 
  * these very eyes fix on the cliffs behind him, asking a question her lips do not need to. “she is gone,” peter answers simply, his voice low. and she is; she drifted off only hours before, at peace for the first time in months of hacking and choking on the air, drowning with no ocean around her. 
  * the mermaid nods carefully, eyes finding his own. for a moment, peter stands taller, and the person he once was begins to drift to the surface. she searches him greedily as he straightens, shifting slightly from where she is propped up on her stomach. 
  * after considering him for a moment, she stretches a hand from the water to reach for his own. peter may be mistaken, but he thinks he sees it tremble. 
  * and then, the storm in his eyes finally lets up. 
  * as his fingers find hers, the fire blazing his stomach is cooled for the first time in two decades, cooled by a blanket of saltwater. the passion is not gone, but it is different: what was once a storm of seizing, leaping flames is now a current, one that is surging him towards the open water. 
  * and so, as peter takes one step, then another, he does not resist. her hand grasps his with cool fingers, and he holds it close, pressing the scale she left with him back into her palm. she casts him a look of amusement, and he offers a grin in return. it is then that they reach a dropoff, and peter feels it beneath his feet. 
  * she is swimming now, and it is deep enough on the other side that there is no need for her to hunch down. peter can hear the soft swishing of her tail, and he can see out over the moonlit waves into an eternity of ocean. rather than looking over the waves, he turns his gaze to hers. 
  * there is a question in her eyes, the same that swam in them all those months ago. the mermaid releases his hand, swimming a bit farther, and her full lips are pursed as her gaze slices him apart, gutting him like a sunfish. this is the last time; she will not ask again. 
  * and she will not need to: as peter looks in her eyes, he finds the answer. it is an answer he has been searching for since his childhood, the one that the waves has been whispering to him no matter how he tried to close his ears to them. it is an answer that is set in the stars, an answer that he will embrace rather than rejecting like the line of men before him. 
  * he will not make his home among the cliffs or the solid ground; he will not make it in the society of men who pick at one another’s bones like scavengers. he will not find a place of rest in the grass or the summer sun, and he will not find it in the forest shade. 
  * peter will find his home in the waves and the storms that rip at his skin. he will find it in salt and brine, in forests of kelp and solid plateaus of reef and shoal. he will find it in the wild and the blue, in the dark and grey that strokes his skin with the warmth of a lover. 
  * he will find his home in her. 
  * as peter steps over the dropoff, he does not take a breath. the waters close over his head, and he does not resist as he sinks away from the moonlight. he feels a hand in his own, curls brushing his shoulder, and a kiss against his temple, and he will use these as a guide in the dark. 
  * peter is not afraid, and he is not angry. when the depths pull him down, peter does not feel ghosts grabbing at his heels or haunted memories chilling his bones. peter feels warm touch and hears a song, and that is how he knows.
  * the ocean has come for him, and peter goes quietly into the storm. he is the property of the depths, and he will return to their open arms. they own him, mind, body, and soul. 
  * the depths own him because _she_ is one with them, and he is _**hers**._




End file.
